


Easily

by primdise



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Clay | Dream Being an Idiot (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is So Whipped (Video Blogging RPF), First Meetings, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Or More Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Professor Notfound, Professor Wastaken, Simp at First Sight, Slow Burn, bcs no spoilers pls, bcs yk what?, but if you know me theres always a twist, but thats for later chapters, dre is panicked gay, for now have this, geo is flirty, i aint ever seen dnf flirting at the same time always one of em gotta be repulsed, name truthing, once i discovered what that meant i never looked back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primdise/pseuds/primdise
Summary: Professor Dream Wastaken has a gift.When he thinks about doing something, the next time he blinks, it is already done. He has used this to achieve a lot of things in his life. His thesis, his college degree, his notable academic works. All of them in the blink of an eye.During their annual cross-department gathering, there is a cute professor that has caught his eyes. How harmless would it be for Dream to use his ability to ask for that certain professor's phone number?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 102
Kudos: 433





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the two most recent streams of dnf, amiright?
> 
> anyway, hi! this is my second fic in this fandom and the second dnf one as well! my first fic's tone was completely different from this so im excited to dive deeper into this theme and style. 
> 
> mr wastaken has lived in my mind rent free, and ive seen a lot of fanarts with them as hs teachers. it was cute, i love every one of them, but i figured, why not make it into Professor Wastaken :} tee hee  
> enjoy!

Black suit.

Deep green tie.

Dirty blond hair in place.

Expensive watch on his wrist.

He throws a careless glance at the full body mirror in his bedroom. He fixes his tie for the last time. That will do. 

Nodding to himself and grabbing nothing but his phone, wallet and car keys, he closes the door behind him. The front door beeps as it locks in place. He goes down the elevator and through the building’s lounge. The blue hour’s wind whistles past him as he steps foot outside, ghosting the feeling of cold against his neck. Unbothered, he walks across the parking lot and hops on his car. 

**Dream Wastaken knew he was a successful man.** Prodigy. Genius. Legend. Those are some of the words Dream would often hear from colleagues and people who don’t even know him but for certain have heard his name.

He doesn’t want to brag but he doesn’t exactly disagree with them. Don’t mistake him, he’s not a businessman bathing in countless piles of money. He’s a simple man, really. A simple Statistics Professor in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. A simple author of three award-winning and top-selling research and academic books. A simple awardee of the Fields Medal, perhaps him being the youngest receiver of it ever since a century ago. Okay, maybe he _is_ bragging, and maybe kind of being an asshole. The bragging he can explain as it comes naturally to a man with achievements like his’ in an early age. The asshole part is up to you to decide.

How, you ask, was he able to manage such a feat? Well. 

You see, Dream has a gift.

Well, he didn’t really call it that back in high school, just that he had an **ability.**

Said ability is this: once he starts something, he finishes it in an instant. Well, he’s not like superheroes who move very fast. No.

He just blacks out in the middle of the process, so all he knows is that he started something, thinks about doing something, then the next, it’s already said and done.

Like, say he thinks about baking something. All he will remember is getting the ingredients out, then the next time he will blink, there will be freshly baked cupcakes in front of him.

He doesn’t time travel. No, he’s already theorized about that. He's proven wrong when he inconspicuously asked his best friend about it. One time during their first years of friendship in highschool, he asked whether he disappears when he’s doing something. 

Sapnap just gives him a strange look. “What do you mean ‘disappear’? You’re literally there doing it and talking to us like normal. What’s all this about?”

Dream just shrugs it off, not telling his best friend something that will make him look crazy.

It's then that Dream confirms that he is indeed present in the situation, just that he has no memory of it.

Now, isn’t that the perfect ability to have? _Well—_ if you think about it, really.

He considers it a gift. 

Because he just has to think things through—maybe read a recipe book, read a paper, think about the first chapter, go at the end of a very long queue—think about how he’d like to do it, initiate doing it, and poof! Done. Cupcakes. His research assignments. Book finished. Waited 5 hours in a restaurant like he’s just waited for 5 seconds.

No need for second thinking nor doubts nor worries nor backing out. 

No draining process of going through something just to reach an end goal.

He couldn’t imagine a better skill to possess.

Dream isn’t evil, per se. Maybe a chaotic neutral. Chaotic good, if he’s pushing it. 

Moral alignment aside, Dream had always been a practical man, so you can’t really blame him for using his gift for his passions. 

He’s used his ability for his benefit, of course. He woke up one day in highschool having it, and ever since then and discovering its really a good thing, he didn’t want to ever let it go.

His ability literally allowed him to easily finish his assignments, finish high school, start his undergraduate degree, start his thesis, get his degree, get a masters degree and achieve so many things in life.

All that he’s done with abandon. 

Don’t get him wrong, Dream is not lazy. He’s spent an ample amount of time studying and thinking about those deeds that he might as well have done it physically. 

Like that time before physically starting his thesis, he researches and researches, a lot of sleepless nights spent just to assure that even if he has no memory of doing it, he’s certain he can do a great job. 

Now with a decade down the line of using his gift, he can’t expect for his life to get better than this.

As he stated earlier, he’s now a renowned statistics professor in MIT, praised among his peers and beyond, a well known author whose works have been translated into several different languages which is being taught all across the world, and just a very accomplished man in general. 

When people ask him about the secret of his success, all he ever says is that when he wants to do something, he sets his mind to it (really, he could even be a comedian, if he thinks about it), and doesn’t leave a room for doubt. 

Which is, true, because when you black out in the process of doing something, there’s no room for worries or doubts or second thoughts. If you have your mind set for the end goal and the end goal only, then you won’t stop in the middle of it. You can actually manage to reach your goal.

In his opinion, Dream thinks that everybody has potential, every person has a great calling, every idea worth being alive. But he also thinks that the reason not everything gets fulfilled is because people stop in the middle. That people start it with great inspiration, only for them to let insecurities get in the way, and then barely continuing it, until they stop completely because those dark, dark thoughts have eaten away any of the inspiration left, leaving behind only regret and sorrow and the inability to keep going. Because, for what, anyway?

In moments like those where he witnesses the fall of something that could have been good, are moments when Dream feels the most grateful for his gift. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he stops in the middle.

The entrance of the hotel venue comes and Dream pulls the vehicle up to a stop. He hands the valet his keys, brushing the non existent dust on his coat as he strides confidently towards the double doors of the hotel. 

The institute is currently holding their annual cross department social gathering event and Dream had been assigned to do the opening speech. It’s the end of the term and as tradition, MIT has rented out the largest venue in one of the most prestigious hotels in the city. OF course, a prestigious institute as theirs requires the same level as such. 

MIT has a lot of college departments, six divisions who collate into a total of 32 academic departments. Two of those divisions, the School of Science and the School of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences are going to be sharing the floor tonight. Such a variety of faculty that is almost amounting to half a thousand will then require the most grandiose of set-ups. 

The hotel’s staff that greeted him at the entrance led him to the 2nd floor of the building, where the event is being held. Their institute’s staff gives him a pass without even asking for his name, and then in a second he’s inside the place. 

Dining tables are the first thing one will see upon arrival, a huge red carpet leading all the way to the stage. In front of the stage is a huge open area, with cocktail tables situated around it in a circle. Colors of red table tops and gold decorations give the venue a tone of elegance Dream would think this isn’t just a faculty event. He runs his eyes among the crowd of people who have already arrived, trying to look for the most familiar face. He sees him at the far right, near the glass double doors. He strides towards them, nodding at people who greet him on the way there. Once he reaches the table, they turn to him in greeting. 

“Dream! Right on time, as always!” 

Professor Blade, a _friend_ of Dream from the same faculty, says in a tone that he knows is teasing. Dream rolls his eyes and chuckles. “ _Hi, Techno._ I see you’ve beaten me again.” He mocks, knowing that the friendly rivalry they both have going on entertains the rest of their faculty. And to his non-disappointment, the people from their table starts chiding in with bets and remarks of who’s going to win the banter this time. Dream shakes his head at the usual shenanigans and takes a seat.

“Of course. But, must I say it’s getting a little bit boring waiting for you to catch up.” Techno delivers.

Their friends react extravagantly. 

“ _Ooh._ That’s kind of an L there, Dream, are you gonna take that?” Sapnap, the person Dream had sighted earlier, his best friend and a Physics professor, chaffs from the seat beside him. Dream punches him on the shoulder lightly as a form of greeting and rebuke.

Then, he sings, “I mean, it’s fine if it makes him feel better. I’m not gonna be the one sitting here while someone will be having an honorary speech on stage later tonight.” 

Their friends erupt in loud cackles of approval, changing their conclusion that that was definitely a win for Dream today. Dream gives his head a cock to the side, smirking at the middle finger Techno then jokingly flashes at him. 

He shakes his head once again, amused at how loud their group seems to be getting. Dream thinks that’s one of the benefits if half of the people in their faculty were blockmates when they were in graduate school. It’s like they’ve gotten their degree but the part that bonded them when they were at their youths still stayed.

The conversation stirs to another topic, and Dream stays back in his seat just listening to them until the program starts. 

Dream belongs to the School of Science, in the department of Mathematics, his esteem as an Advanced Statistics Professor unparalleled. Said position and esteem were what allowed him to be the opening speech. The president of their institute is incredibly proud of his achievements, thus incredibly fond of him, but Dream knows it's partly because a huge percentage of their enrollees are because they are amazed and inspired by Dream’s work. Probably his charm and influence on social media, as well, but Dream doesn’t think the president knows much about how Twitter works.

Dream had spent the past few nights perfecting his speech and thinking about how he’s going to deliver it so that he can execute it properly today. So without a single nervous bone in his body, he climbs up the elegant stage and introduces himself as a greeting, and then the next time he blinks, the speech is done and everybody is clapping. The president along with the board of directors are shaking his hand and clapping him in the back. He smiles charmingly before going down the stage and back to his table.

It's around half-way into the boring program, in the middle of a performance from the students of the College of Music that something, rather someone, catches his eye. Everybody is standing now, professors socializing around, fleeting from table to table with flutes of white wine on their hands, talking to colleagues they normally don’t see on a regular basis, because let’s face it, MIT is huge. But Dream and the rest of their group had taken to standing by the cocktail tables near where the food and drinks are, and just talk amidst each other. 

Sapnap, while holding a flute of wine in his hand and gesturing wildly with the other, is talking about something Dream had tuned out in listening in favor of staring at someone from the opposite side of the room.

“Who’s that?” He asks Sapnap, and the man stops talking mid-sentence to give a glimpse as to who Dream is unabashedly staring at.

“Who?” 

“The one basically arm in arm with the president.” 

“Ah,” Sapnap says in recognition. “That’s President Philza’s longest friend’s son, Mr. Notfound. A Sociology professor, I think. He introduced him to the faculty last semester. I think it was during the time you were away for a seminar. Maybe that’s why you don’t recognize him. Different departments and all.”

The Physics professor must have memorized the law of attraction, because the next minute, the President along with the mysterious man was walking towards their table. The statistics professor rakes his eyes over the younger one of the approaching pair in quick succession, trying to figure out just what draws Dream to him. 

He’s wearing a crisp white button down, dark blue tie in place, but his black overcoat hangs in his forearm. He’s dressed impeccable just like everybody else, so maybe that’s not it. His face, features clearly not American, are a mixture of soft and hard edges. From afar, Dream could see mellow eyes and a sharp nose. He could see plush lips and an angled jaw. They reach their side of the room. 

“Professors!” The president greets with a smile. The president greets each of them with a smile, initiating small talk and asking how they all were. Dream thinks Philza favors their department the most, because firstly, Techno and Dream himself are here; the two whomst bring home achievements after achievements, and that Philza was a higher mathematics professor himself before taking on the role as president. 

Dream and Sapnap are on the back of the group so when the President got around talking to the rest, the two best friends had already moved on to another topic.

Dream sees Philza clap Sapnap in the back. Sapnap startles, cuts himself mid-sentence again. “Oh, Phil, hi! You almost killed me.” 

Sapnap puts a hand on his chest dramatically and pretends to faint. Dream shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy. But Philza knows how to play along and so he says, “No, Sap! Who else would blow up the labs if you aren’t around anymore?” 

“Hey!” Sapnap retaliates in a pout.

Dream laughs at that. He notices that the guy behind Philza laughs quietly, too. Phil must have seen Dream stare because he steps to the side and coaxes the man forward. Upon closer distance, Dream notices that he’s almost a foot taller than the other.

“Ah, right. I must do this! Two of my most favorite people in this institute. Don’t tell Wil and Techno that.” The old man laughs, and waves his hands in dismissal. “Professor Dream Wastaken, this is Professor George Notfound. He’s recently transferred into our SSHAS, as a top-tier Social Science professor. I’m sure you have already heard of him—” _Dream regrets that he hasn’t_. “But he’s the son of a long time friend of mine from back when I teached in London. But I assure you, even without that connection, he’s as remarkable as he can be. I wouldn’t have bugged his father for years to let me recruit him to America if he wasn’t. You see, George here had started with…”

The president goes off of the new professor’s achievements, and Dream would have done anything to memorize everything the president had said, but he can’t really focus as the subject of the president’s praise has his ears going redder by the minute. Dream thinks that there’s something interesting at the way the shorter man’s ears flare up with each receiving compliment.

When Philza is called off somewhere, Professor Notfound shyly smiles at them before going to the neighboring table and talking to another professor. He’s talking to another of Dream’s friends from another faculty, Nuclear Science Professor, Mr. Jacobs.

Dream just calls him Karl, but Karl chides him for being such an unprofessional when Dream calls him that on campus. You can’t really fault Dream when it’s your best friend's boyfriend you’re talking about. And Karl will hurt himself by tripping over the air before he can hurt a fly, who’s he threatening about.

“I never knew Professor Notfound knew your boyfriend over there.” He says to Sapnap. 

Sapnap gives him a look. “Yeah, well, I never knew you were into hot professors who look like they’re fresh out of Vogue, but I guess even after years of friendship, some things remain in the dark.”

“Fuck off, Sap. He’s not my type.” 

“I never said he was. I said he was hot.” Sapnap smiles at him provokingly, knowing full well how to push Dream’s buttons. 

“That’s inappropriate.” Dream replies weakly, knowing that the boy knows him like the back of his palm. 

“Sure, Dream. He’s looking over here though.”

And sure enough, when Dream looks across the few tables in between, Karl and George are looking at their general direction. Okay, screw that general direction, George is looking directly in his eyes.

Dream sucks in a breath, but doesn’t break his stare. They’ve kept eye contact for who knows how long, until Sapnap whispers beside him, “Oh my god, suck his dick already.”.

Dream’s eyes widened, more at the sudden visual image in his head rather than at his friend’s profanity. He hits Sapnap straight in the shoulder, causing him to break eye contact with the other man across. 

“Professor! Language!” Dream says, surprisingly feeling flustered, glaring at Sapnap’s cackling face. 

“ _Language?_ Are you Bad now?”

Dream ignores him. When he looks back, George isn’t looking at him anymore.

In fact, George doesn’t even spare him a single glance all throughout the night— Dream knows because guiltily, he spares the man a glance every minute or so— until the program is almost ending.

Karl, with George in tow, crosses the distance between their tables and goes to hold Sapnap’s elbow.

“Hey baby, ready to go home and see what I have in store for you tonight?” He leans down to whisper this to the other’s ears, but Dream knows about Karl enough that it’s not really true and that he did it loud enough that George and Dream purposely hears it. 

Dream avoids his eyes at the apparent laughter from his best friend’s face and meets George’s awkward glance. The other boy probably isn’t aware of Karl’s sexuality yet, since the nuclear science professor isn’t exactly out and open with it.

And so, Dream smiles at him, small, his dimples showing, to show that he is as equally as stuck in the awkward conversation as the man is. He’s _not_ showing off his smile, of course not. _Who does that anyway._

It seems to work because he can see that the other man’s seem to linger at the corner of his mouth for a second before giving him a gorgeous grin. Dream sucks in a breath. _George is either completely clueless or he knows how to play the game Dream is wordlessly challenging him in_.

The brunette shakes his head fondly, as if in on a secret joke, and talks just loud enough to drown out the growing confidence in Karl’s voice about his _plans_ , but not loud enough to call attention to the both of them on the side.

“Professor Wastaken, a pleasure to finally meet you.” This is George’s first words to Dream, and Dream is clenching his hands tightly to his side, repeatedly saying: _I will not feel attracted to an accent I will not feel attracted to an accent I will not feel attracted to an accent—_

Dream wordlessly shakes the offered hand. It’s smaller than his, and a lot softer, warmth emanating from the other’s milky skin. They’ve stood closer enough now that Dream could see that there’s freckles adorning the other man’s cheeks. Dream can’t keep up with the things to fixate about. He is so embarrassingly enamoured that he forgets to reply. Good thing George is already following his introduction.

“Can I just say that I’ve read some of your works and your approach in set theory is very indulging. I know Statistics is your specialization but your brief paper about the continuum hypothesis really amazed me. Not a lot of people in our society right now can grasp the concepts completely and it's amazing how you’ve broken it down and reconstructed it back so eloquently.”

 _Fuck,_ Dream internally curses. Oh, _no_ . He can _talk. Oh, fuck._

This is so not good for Dream’s ego. 

Dream knows he’s good. That he does his job well. Because it’s not just a job for him, it’s also his passion, and to have someone say that to him in his face is taking Dream to new heights. People had always said he’s good, or he’s great, or that he’s a genius. But none of them had ever said it like this. _Like they get it_. 

The unwanted blush on his face feels warmer by the second. He tries to gather his thoughts and just speaks, unable to think things through because no matter how _pretty_ George is, he is _very_ intimidating. Not that Dream is intimidated, of course. Who gets intimidated by plush lips, pretty eyes, and a pretty voice with an _accent_? Not Dream, no, of course not. An accent, pfft, he’s met many British people and none affects him like this.

“Uhh, thank you! It was quite an experience in trying to grasp the ideas people had over centuries ago. But then again, you are here telling me it was indulging, and not a lot of people can understand how it’s broken down. What I’m saying is, I think you’re cute.”

Dream’s eyes widen. He bites his tongue, wishing he could take back his sentence. He wishes the ground to swallow him whole. 

Dream knows for sure he blew it, ruined something that ever since forever feels new and exhilarating, just because he can’t control his mouth. But George, after staring at him for a few beats, bursts out in laughter. He laughs, or more like squeaks ( _God, that’s adorable.)_ and his eyes scrunch up into two black lines and Dream decides right there and then: _he can’t handle this_. 

George tries to clasp a hand in his mouth to prevent laughing out loud, but it’s too late because Dream had already heard. Dream had already seen how he laughs. He wants more.

After the boy composes himself, George gives Dream a huge beam. “Ah, Phil never told me you have such a great sense of humor, Professor Wastaken.”

Dream ignores the tiny surge of disappointment. _It was a slip-up but I wasn’t joking._

“Oh, please, you can call me Dream. Did he tell you about me?” He settles for saying.

“Yes, _Dream_ , he did. Genius. Prodigy. All that. If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve mistaken you as one of his sons. I’m glad I get to meet you tonight and see for myself how admirable you are. Your speech was very well delivered.”

George gives him a smile that could rival the sun. Dream really can’t handle this. But he composes himself, because he doesn’t want to fuck up more than he had.

“Aren’t you just buttering me up, Professor?” George laughs. Doesn’t say anything.

Dream smiles back. “It’s nice to meet you too, Professor Notfound.” 

Before George could say another word, applause went around the room, the president apparently having finished his ending speech, thanking all the faculty and the staff that made everything possible. As the people slowly trickle out and resign for the night or head elsewhere, Dream has a wild idea forming in his head right now. 

“I... I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a second.” He tells George, and George softly nods.

“Sure.” 

He heads to the bathroom. After Dream closes the cubicle door behind him, he locks it before turning around to close the toilet seat lid. He sits there, and closes his eyes to think. He’s going to think about it. He’s going to use his gift. He knows he can’t do what he wants to do if he feels this nervous about it.

So he breathes, just as he tries to morph his thoughts into life. Of him getting back there. And asking. 

For George’s phone number.

 _Okay_ , that might not be a _wild_ idea if you were to consider the list of wild things he ever did in his life (because he is friends with Sapnap and Karl, and nothing is not wild when with them, especially back in their undergrad years) but in Dream’s already settled life of 26, nothing is exciting anymore. So asking for a guy’s phone number you only knew the existence of two hours ago, Dream is a bit nervous.

But in order to not psych himself out, he thinks about it. This is going to be easy. This is gonna be simple. He just has to go back there and ask for George’s phone number. Because let's face it, Dream hasn’t been this interested in somebody for a long time. 

Around the 60 second mark, he opens his eyes and breathes. Gets out of the cubicle, washes his hands, fixes his hair and his tie and his suit and smiles at the mirror. He can do this, of course.

When he goes outside, the chairs are being stacked up, the hotel’s staff cleaning the venue. Heaving a disappointed sigh, he thought that he already lost his chance and George had already gone home, but when he reaches outside, he sees him by the hotel’s entrance, still talking with Sapnap and Karl.

When the couple sees him though, they only wave their hands as a sign of goodbye, before getting in Karl's car. George then turns to look at him, his hands around himself fighting the coldness of the winter night, his face being illuminated by the hotel’s sign outside and the lamps behind him.

Dream jogs towards him, hesitantly places his hands on George’s elbows to lead him closer to the building where the hotel’s heater seeps through the revolving doors. He smiles at George worriedly, meets the professor’s eyes that reflect the lights from all around them. 

“Are you cold?” he asks nervously, and revs up his thoughts from the bathroom, then he breathes, and then the next moment, George is on the side of the road, the valet giving him keys to his own car and George hopping in his car before waving Dream goodbye.

Dream looks down to see his phone now in his hand, a new contact named _‘George :]’_ displayed on the screen. He whispers an excited _yes!_ And punches a giddy fist into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. im an absolute idiot. i wrote this in a span of ten hours instead of doing our exposition paper. my groupmates be asking "why couldnt u attend our meet?" and do you expect me to answer " im sorry i wrote fanfiction about block men"
> 
> LMAO anyway, i wasnt complaining, just a heads up so youd know about when the next update should come! i have finals and a whole bunch of papers and presentations to mull over so itd probably take a few days. hope youll still be around when i come back!
> 
> if you liked the first chapter, please leave a kudos or a comment :}


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a teenee left ear pain, iykwim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIII!! 
> 
> sorry it took so long :C i had finals and projects and [ redacted due to lengthy complaints LMAO ] and yeah :} anyway ive been catching up on sleep a lot now and hopefully i can go back to writing in a steady progress :>
> 
> sooooo i have good news and bad news :D  
> bad news: kinda short update :o  
> good news is : ive solidified the plot of this fic now! i wrote the first chapter just kind of an outlet bcs it was during the week of mr wastaken streams lolol and i wanted a professor au so bad and didnt find any so here here :> but yep! plot : solid :}  
> are we ready for it ? maybe. maybe not. :>
> 
> anyways, enjoy <3
> 
> ps. if u came from my other fics, hello ayo trees!!!!!!!! you guys are the ones always reading my tmi authors notes and thats so pog :0 stay awesome!

You might have figured this out already, but if it wasn’t clear, Dream is a very impatient guy. Maybe you’ve ignored the bright neon sign that says he maximizes his gift in every possible way he can use it just because he hates going through the agony of waiting. Or maybe you’ve just ignored every possible telltale. That’s fine. If you’d ever need another moment to make you sigh and shake your head in resignation, this might be it. 

Dream, not even the next day, texts George that night. It’s only been half an hour, and he’s near his flat, but with one hand on the steering wheel, he fetches his phone with the other and clicks the recently added contact. 

_Good evening, Professor. :),_ he sends. 

Only a few seconds pass and his phone dings. 

_who is this,_ it reads. No capitalization, no punctuation marks. Dream holds back a smile.

 _Ah, expecting someone in particular?_ He replies as he pulls over the parking lot. Pocketing his phone and switching off his car’s engine, he pulls the key from the hole and gets out. He closes the door and strides to the elevator, a light in his steps that wasn’t really there when he left earlier that evening. 

Pushing his floor number, his phone beeps again. The small smile in his lips widens exponentially when he reads the message.

_not really waiting for any other professor except this hot and cute one i met earlier_

Dream bites his bottom lip to refrain from smiling too hard, shaking his head, as he tries to come up with a reply. The elevator door opens and he steps out of his floor. He types, _Oh. What department is he from? Maybe I know him :)_

He pockets his phone once again and punches in his apartment’s key code, toeing off his shoes by the entrance and turning on the lights in his unit. 

His phone pings. 

_dream_ — it reads, and then a new one closely follows with — _i was talking about you._

Dream cackles, not quite sure why the other’s dizzying mix of direct pushes and teasing pulls makes him laugh. 

He loosens his tie and fetches himself a glass of water, before sitting down on his kitchen’s bar stool, trying to figure out how to play this out. George had initiated a game and now the ball is in Dream’s side of the court.

_Oh, really? By the way you were being earlier, I assumed there was a lot._

_what do you mean—_ a message comes even before the screen blacks out.

Dream’s eyebrows raise. Dizzying mix of direct pushes and teasing pulls, he thought once again.

> _Oh, George. You were a flatterer._
> 
> _You kept praising me._

> _ah_
> 
> _but did i lie tho_
> 
> _im sure you liked it anyway_
> 
> _didnt you_

> _It’s hard not to when it’s coming from someone as charming as you :)_

> _now whos the flatterer here_

> _But did I lie, though?_

> _ooh thats very original, professor_

> _‘Professor’?_

> _yes_
> 
> _are you not_

> _You already called me Dream. I think we’re already past that level, aren’t we? :)_

> _getting ahead of yourself?_

> _No. Just trying to see if I’ve read things right. :)_

> _maybe_
> 
> _maybe not_
> 
> _who knows_

> _You tell me, George. :)_

Dream’s phone doesn’t ping immediately. Swallowing the acrid taste at the back of his throat, he stands up from the stool he didn’t realize he had already spent the past hour in. He stretches his arms, deciding to call it a night. 

It’s when he’s showered and changed his clothes, laying on his bed just scrolling through twitter that his phone pings and the message box appears at the top of his notifications. 

It reads a simple _goodnight dream :]._ Dream falls asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since the party and spring break has just ended. On to another semester, Dream starts the beginning of it with a new _friend_. George and him, unsurprisingly, kept talking over the course of the semestral break, progressing from barely acquaintances to friends that send each other stupid memes and cute pictures of cats they sometimes see on the streets. Throw in the occasional photos of morning coffee and late night laptop screen pictures of preparing powerpoints for their upcoming classes.

As Dream’s curiosity ebbs away, it transforms into another intangible thing he spends his empty minutes figuring out the name of. Respect? Admiration? Affection? Fondness? He doesn’t know. But maybe it doesn’t need a name. Dream is pretty content not naming it yet because maybe it’s alright like that. Not knowing the proper title. What he does know is that by each and every day that passes, George’s name feels different in his mouth every time.

As the semester kicks to a start, the days from there on go by like post lights inside a dim lit car, moving past continuously in a never ending cycle of lectures, and meetings, and seminars, and odd hours of staying up grading quizzes. Ah, the routine of being a teacher. 

Dream sees George everywhere now. When he did not know the existence of the elder, Dream had never once crossed paths with him. Or at least, that’s what he remembers. Dream sees George in the hallways of buildings they share having a class on, he sees him in the cafeteria, in the narrow glass panels of the door when the other man is having a lecture and Dream _just happens_ to pass by. He sees the British man from across the quad. From across a sea of students. From the hidden sections of the library. From the rare cross faculty meetings. 

There was one time, Dream recalls, around the first week of the new semester that the two of them had a class in the same room in one of the Engineering buildings. George had early morning classes, from 7 to 9:30 and Dream had one by 10 to 12. That particular day during the first week, Dream came early to room A6, wanting to prepare for his first meeting with his students for that class that semester. He was aware someone was going to be using the room prior to him, but he did not know it was George. 

So when 9:30 am rolled around and he heard the chairs inside the room scraping against the floor signifying students being dismissed, he stood up from his seat by the benches on the hallway, dusting off his pants out of habit and grabbing his laptop bag. The door bursts open and a flood of students pass by Dream. He remembers being distracted by something on his phone that he bumps into someone lightly. He raises his head, but not too much because apparently it was a person much shorter than him.

And there he stood, Professor George Notfound, Dream’s most recent thought distracter, wearing an oversized cream knitted sweater with the collar of a white button up peeking from under. His hair is longer from their last meeting (which was the party, because _of course_ Dream hasn’t asked the man out for coffee. _Yet._ He hasn’t even thought of it until now) and it falls into a wonderful mess across his forehead, his large eyes bright with surprise upon bumping into Dream.

And— _fuck_ , _he’s wearing his glasses today._ The cursed glasses that Dream only ever had the short glimpse of one time they face-timed but that George removed hastily. The image Dream can't get out of his head stands in front of him unabashedly and with no restraints. It feels illegal. Looking at George feels illegal.

“I— Professor Wastaken?” the man says. 

And _of course,_ yet again, because despite having a high GPA and possessing a high IQ, in front of this man he is nothing more than an awkwardly fumbling fawn. He fucks it up. 

_Maybe_ he was blinded by beauty. Maybe it’s the morning light from the hallway’s windows hitting George’s brown eyes differently and painting it with streaks of gold that Dream failed to see the first time they met. 

_Whatever_ it is, what he does know is that he just stands there, stuck in place, blacked out phone in hand and his laptop bag in the other, looking at George like some sort of fool. A few beats pass of no reply, and George tilts his head to the side lightly, a quiet “uhhh…?” falling from his mouth. 

Dream’s eyes drop down. His mouth. Its natural tinge of peach stark against the other's milk skin. Dream wishes to touch. To run his thumb across it, just to prove to himself that it might be softer than the clouds. Dream wishes to feel it. To maybe push his thumb further, just to see whether the other will welcome him or not. 

Dream snaps back to reality. He straightens his back in shock, horrified at himself for being so easily _distracted_ in broad daylight. 

And so he responds accordingly: he clears his throat, looks at George dead in the eye, face passive. He gives the man a nod, and a short “Professor Notfound.” and then goes into the room without looking back.

Dream wishes the ground to swallow him whole. _Why did he do that?_

The students who were there to witness the scene looked dumbfounded. Because who knew Professor Notfound and Professor Wastaken knew each other? What was _that_ all about?

Even when Dream started his class, gossip of the weird encounter reached the relative student body, and rumors of two of the _hottest_ , Dream overhears, professors having beef with each other is already getting around. By lunchtime and after dismissing his class early in order to not answer their questions, Sapnap had already caught whiff of the rumor. 

Over the faculty’s pantry, Sapnap kept giving Dream teasing glances. Dream rolls his eyes at his best friend. 

“What.” He deadpans. 

Sapnap just laughs at the pissed look on his face, wiggling his eyebrows with more fervor causing Dream’s irritation to grow by the second. 

“Nothing!” Sapnap says again, a giggle tumbling out yet again. 

Dream scoffs. “What’s so funny, then?” He can’t help the sarcasm from dripping out, his embarrassment from earlier still not fading. 

“Oh nothing. Just heard a little rumor that’s been going around that a professor from our faculty was having beef with someone from another department. But rumors, shoomers, I think what really happened was that a certain someone was having a gay little crush over a little cutie, in a cute sweater, _I’ve heard!,_ and so he gay panicked and yeeted the fuck out and caused unnecessary fake drama but really, its just an emotionally constipated dude having a gay little breakdown, don’t you think so, too?” Sapnap gives him a too-innocent smile. 

Dream glares at him over his turkey sandwich.

“Am I right or was that a fucking bullseye?” Sapnap cackles loudly.

“When I _fucking_ catch you—” Dream seethes, feeling his ears warm up from the embarrassment. Sapnap is his best friend but he wishes the man to just shut the fuck up sometimes. He’s way too smart for his own good. 

“Oh, _Dream!_ Caught in 4k, idiot! The student body was having a field day!” The other boy sings and it should be illegal just how much Dream wanted the ground to swallow him whole. _He panicked. Over a boy in a sweater. How dumb was that?_

What’s worse is that George doesn’t text him about it when they talked later that night. The other man probably knows what happened. Either he’s just sparing Dream or it’s a bullet waiting to be pulled. Dream isn’t really excited. 

* * *

**From — Dream :**

_Do you ever just wonder how much saliva you’ve drunk your entire life?_

_Because I’ve read that our salivary glands produce about a liter to a liter and a half in a single day._

_A DAY, GEORGE._

**From — George :**

_let me guess_

_actually no i cant_

_why oh why are you thinking about spit at this time of the day_

_its almost noon and you should be out enjoying the sun you know_

_touch some grass while youre at it_

**From — Dream :**

_Who the hell enjoys the sun at noon ???_

_Also, the reason: mock exams._

**From — George :**

_ahh_

**From — Dream :**

_I had an empty period and I was supposed to be grading papers, but going through some of the student’s computations makes me want to bang my head against my desk._

_Aggressively._

_Until it bleeds._

_I will be taken to the hospital but at the very least I’d finally be able to get away from these papers._

**From — George :**

_...i think you should really touch some grass, dream_

**From — Dream :**

_I didn’t do any of that._

_So instead I‘ve been counting the amount of times I have been swallowing my own spit for the past half an hour or so…_

**From — George :**

_honestly that is disgusting_

_also, if u wanna swallow something else, hmu ;)_

**From — Dream :**

_!_

_GEORGE?_

_I DON’T THINK THAT’S A PROPER TOPIC AT NOON?_

**From — George :**

_what?_

_lunch is not a proper topic at noon?_

_then when am i supposed to talk abt it?_

_at night???_

**From — Dream :**

_Ah._

_Yes._

_Lunch._

_So uhh, have you eaten, then? :)_

**From — George :**

_LOL YOU DEFO THOUGHT OF SMTH ELSE_

**From — Dream :**

_I did not._

**From — George :**

_oh dream_

_u dirty dirty boy_

**From — Dream :**

_I’m a grown ass man!!!_

**From — George :**

_grown, and an ass man, i see_

**From — Dream :**

_I hate you._

_This is slander._

**From — George :**

_and here i was even considering the fact to treat you to lunch_

_smh_

**From — Dream :**

_:0_

_:)_

_You’re going to treat me anyway._

**From — George :**

_getting ahead of yourself again, arent we_

**From — Dream :**

_I’ve definitely read this right. :)_

**From — George :**

_whatever_

_just get your stupid ass over here_

**From — Dream :**

_Bossy._

_I like it._

**From — George :**

_u have 60 seconds, dream_

**From — Dream :**

_How on Earth am I supposed to get from my building to the cafeteria in under a minute? In this ginormous campus???_

**From — George :**

_tick tock tick tock_

  
  


**From — George :**

_LOL I SAW THAT_

**From — Dream :**

_YOU SAW NOTHING._

**From — George :**

_POOR PROFESSOR MIKE_

_HE SHALL BE SCARRED FOR LIFE_

**From — Dream :**

_I DIDNT SEE HIM_

_NOR HIS PASTA_

**From — George :**

_THE ENTIRE PLATE_

_OF SPAGHETTI_

_IN HIS HEAD_

_I CANT_

**From — Dream :**

_OH SHUT UP GEORGE_

**From — George :**

_LMAOOOOO_

_why were you running in the first place anyway_

**From — Dream :**

_Because an idiot told me 60 seconds._

**From — George :**

_ur the idiot here to believe that_

_well? its been five minutes and i dont see you anywhere??_

**From — Dream :**

_SOME OF IT GOT IN MY CLOTHES, GEORGE_

_SO IM GONNA CHANGE CLOTHES_

_And possibly avoid having to face Professor Mike and his spaghetti hair._

**From — George :**

_UR ACTUALLY DEAD MEAT LOL_

_anyway_

_how abt_

_i order food and we can eat somewhere not here_

_maybe in the quad or elsewhere_

_that sound good?_

**From — Dream :**

_You are actually an angel_

**From — George :**

_lol u better pray as hard as you can to my boss up there_

_bcs i can hear professor mike looking for a certain mr wastaken :0_

_whoever that asshole is :]_

**From — Dream :**

_...I take it back._

**From — George :**

_:]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come scream at me on twitter @primdise :::>


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luigi is underrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYO TREEESSSS HAS IT BEEN A WEEK ALREADY? IM SORRY! I GOT SO BUSY WITH DNFWEEK THAT—[GUNSHOTS]  
> LOL anyway, here, let me make it up to you guys :} 
> 
> (if you dont know what dnfweek is, basically its a creative writing challenge for the dnf writing community that i worked very hard to organize, and even if you arent a writer, but just a dnf enthusiast, im sure youll like it too! im trying hard to gather a lot of participants so by the end of march, its just this group of amazing (amateur or veteran) writers who wants to channel their creativity and just write fics given the prompts they want to do! i suck at explaining so if youre interested in the event, go to my account on twitter @PRIMDISE and the details are all there :} )
> 
> okay i ranted long enough, hope you like this chapter! :}
> 
> ps. ive written the first part of this chapter, and then researched. *shocked moment of silence* did you know that mario and luigi’s surname is “mario”... life hasnt been the same ever since… (anyway lets pretend that dnf didnt know that for the sake of my sanity)

The air conditioner hums quietly from the corner of the living room, its exhales making the warm room a lot easier to deal with. A frozen glow from the laptop screen on the coffee table holds the blinking cursor to a pause, an Excel document left out in the open, grades waiting to be inputted. Marked papers sit in five different stacks around it, each piece assigned with names of people Dream had spent the past few weeks teaching. With his back laid on the sofa, Dream pinches the bridge of his nose and cards his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling.

The early afternoon sunlight filters through his huge windows, the glass refracting the light and painting the whole room bright. 

A sigh. 

His phone rings. 

“Hello?” He says, picking it up.

 _“Professor, I have a dilemma.”_ George’s voice filter through the receiver.

“What is it?” Dream asks.

 _“Uhh,”_ the elder hesitates, but his voice remains passive. _“This is kind of serious. What are you up to?”_

Dream flicks his eyes down to his discontinued work on the table. “I was grading papers. What is it, George?”

 _“It’s something much more important than that.”_ George starts, but then he follows with an embarrassed huff. _“Actually no it isn’t so if you’re busy, feel free to ignore. I’m honestly just bored.”_ He says in one breath and Dream laughs at the other’s cuteness. 

He closes his eyes, waits for his laugh to die down and settles for saying, “Fine. If it’s so important then I’m all yours, Professor.” 

The smirk on his face seems apparent in his lazy drawl because George splutters. 

_“I—”_ , then the elder clears his throat. Dream scoffs, the image of the boy probably blushing in his own room enough to put a smile on his face. _“Right, as I was saying, isn’t it unfair?”_

“That…?” Dream encourages.

 _“That the whole Mario franchise is marketed as Mario Brothers, when Luigi,_ **_his brother, his twin!_ ** _is not getting equal rights?”_ George sounds so serious that Dream bites back the amused chuckle that was about to tumble out of him.

“Oh, wow. This _is_ a serious matter.” He chokes out, not able to help the tiny huff of breath that got out.

George either doesn’t say anything or he doesn’t notice it, too caught up in the _serious_ matter.

 _“Exactly!”_ George continues, sounding genuinely offended. _“You know how like Neil Armstrong gets glorified for the moon landing, when in fact he’s not alone in that spacecraft!”_

Dream nods even when George can’t see him, agreeing to whatever the elder said even when Dream knows the truth. Neil Armstrong was the commander of Apollo 11, and so it was the best symbolism to have him walk down first. Dream knew that, but he chooses not to correct the other for the reason that the other might take more offense. 

_And this is more amusing,_ Dream thought.

He hums as a reply. “Ah yes. We shall never forget the injustice for Buzz Aldrin.”

 _“See!”_ George agrees instantly. “ _You step a single foot and boom, world recognition; history books; children’s aspirations. But if you step 20 minutes later and what? Nothing. Not as glorified. The best you’re probably going to get is the namesake of a space ranger in an animated movie franchise!”_

Dream hides his smile in the crevice of his forearm even when alone, amusement growing in sync with the rising and almost hysterical tone of George’s voice.

“Well,” he starts calmly, hoping to soothe the elder, “to be fair, Toy Story is actually great…” 

He hears George sigh from the other line. When he replies, his voice had gone back to its normal pitch. “ _Of course. That was my childhood favorite.”_

“Oh really?” Dream responds, smiling.

“ _Yeah. It’s been years since I’ve rewatched it though.”_ There was a nostalgic edge in his voice.

“Hmm. Wanna watch it together?” Dream suggests.

 _“Now? Weren’t you grading papers?”_ George asks, a rustle from the other line comes, like he’s shifting from wherever he is. Probably in his living room as well. Maybe in his room. Maybe in his bed. Dream doesn’t let himself linger on the thought.

“I was, but I’m done checking. It just needs to be recorded in Excel but I can do that while we watch, if you agree and don’t mind.” Dream says wholeheartedly, sitting up and piling the papers together in one clean stack with one hand.

George seems to think about it for a few beats. 

He agrees. _“Okay! I’m in! Netflix party?”_

“Sure, George. Let me set it up.” Dream says, standing up and going to his flatscreen, plugging it in and setting up the speakers.

 _“Alright! I’ll go grab a drink then! Don’t hang up, Dream.”_ The man already sounds far away from his phone as sounds of refrigerators humming and glass clinking pass through the line. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Dream smiles to no one.

* * *

A sniffle. 

“ _Okay, first of all. This is entirely your fault.”_

Another sob.

_“You did not hear a single thing, okay?”_

A watery sigh.

_“Dream! This isn’t funny!”_

Dream tries to stop wheezing, but a hiccup wracks through his body in his attempt, the uncontrollable fit of laughter setting off once again.

_“Dream! Stop. Laughing.”_

“Okay! Okay, I’m—” _wheeze_ “calm! I’m calm!” He clears his throat, trying his hardest to not let the nth bubbling fit of laughter stumble out of his mouth. He feels lightheaded.

They’re at the end of the third movie, the credits rolling through the screen, and it had been a great few hours, the movie series not as interesting as when he was a kid but it still took most of Dream’s attention. He also finished recording around the second movie, and have been paying close attention to the next since then. 

In fact, he had been so into it that he had failed to notice the quiet sobs and whimpers coming from the other line. When the ending song plays, it was then that Dream noticed and he had been laughing ever since. 

_“Are you now?”_ George actually sounds upset, but it may have just been the post-movie talking. 

“Oh yeah. It’s okay, George _._ I heard nothing. Not a sniff. Not a sob. Not anything that implies you were crying.” He teases, and Dream can hear George nodding from the other line.

“ _Right, right. Because I totally wasn’t.”_ He says followed by a sniff. Dream snorts.

“Yep! Totally did not cry at the part where Andy gave his toys up to Molly.” 

A small whimper, and then a frustrated groan. “ _I hate you.”_

The laughter returns to Dream’s chest and he lets it go, head falling back at the backrest of the sofa. His shoulders shake and he puts an arm to cover his eyes, the other hand pressing the phone close as George’s groans of annoyance go through his ear to the other. 

Once the laughter dies down, he whispers, “No you don’t.”

The sun had set, leaving Dream to bathe in blue sunlight, his living room swimming in dusk shades, the glow of the television casting odd shadows across the room. The city traffic churns the rush hour into a loud cacophony, but it isn’t enough to cover up the soft exhale of George’s reply. “ _No, I don’t.”_

_No, he doesn’t._

Dream repeats to himself as he basks on the warm comfort of company, the other line static, quiet, but his heart, pounding. He breathes. He wonders why something feels like it clicked into place. Wonders why he’s alone but it doesn’t feel like he is. Wonders why his heart feels so full. Wonders if he has a name for it yet. 

Because if it has, then that feeling feels a lot like blue sunsets and end credits rolling in. It feels a lot like far away traffic and whispered reassurances. It feels a lot like George. 

“George.” He says. For the sake of it. 

Dream faintly remembers something he’s read once. It didn’t cross his mind since encountering it, but the puzzlement he had felt upon reading it is dissipating now. Like all those years that it sat at the back of his mind were all building up for this one moment; a feeling of clarification. 

They say when you love someone, you say their name different. Like it’s safe inside your mouth. It did not make sense back then. But now, maybe. Maybe it will.

He doesn’t know yet if it’s safe, but George’s name is certainly building a home.

“ _Dream.”_ In comes the reply. Dream feels himself melt. 

_Safe._

* * *

After they had agreed to finally drop the 5-hour call, they ate their separate but in-synced dinners, with pictures of home cooked meals and finished dishes as back and forth between them. It’s when Dream is keeping the last of the washed plates back to his drawers that his phone pings from the kitchen aisle. He wipes his wet hands on the towel by the refrigerator and strides across the kitchen to fetch his phone. 

A message from George.

 _i still wont forgive you for wounding me dream,_ it reads. Dream’s eyebrows furrow, confused.

 _‘???_ ’, he sends back. His phone then rings on his hand. He swipes answer without a thought and puts the device against his ears.

“George?” 

_“You wounded me, Dream.”_ George says, a mock-whine at the lilt of his sentence. Dream holds back a fond smile. 

“Ah, do you mean the movie, George?” Dream says as he leans against the counter.

“ _It’s_ **_not_ ** _just a movie. That was my childhood.”_ George continues using his whining voice.

Dream shakes his head and snickers. “Your childhood, fine. I’m sowwy, then. Dweam is sowwy.” He laughs at himself for acting silly. “Isn’t that how the kids say it nowadays?” He asks, but the other line is quiet. 

“George?” He tilts his head to the side. 

“ _...You are really out to hurt me, aren’t you?”_ George whispers after a few beats, the sigh of exasperation filtering through the receiver. 

“What? No, I’m not?” Dream plays dumb.

“ _Oh, shut up, Dream. I know you’re being cute on purpose.”_ The eye roll was delivered by tone.

Dream fakes a gasp. “Oh no,” he starts, trying his best to sound sad— “poor Gogy,” he continues, frowning for good measure, and then he asks in a voice he knows gets to the other. A low, lazy drawl. 

“Will a kiss make it better, then?”

Silence.

Dream follows the seconds hand on the clock in his wall move three paces forward. No reply, no sigh, no nothing from the other. The smile melts from his mouth.

“George…?” He asks after the seconds hand go a quarter cycle. Still no reply. Dream takes the phone away from his face and sighs frustratedly to himself. He places it down on the aisle, and puts it on speaker. He stares at it. The call is still on. George hadn’t hung up on him yet.

_Fuck._ He curses inwardly. He wants to take back what he said. They’re friends, for pete’s sake. Sure, Dream knew he felt something for George the day they met, he proved what he felt was real in the time that followed, but for months that they’ve known each other, Dream had kept that at bay. He doesn’t let it get out of hand. Friendly banter, he settled for calling it for the sake of his sanity. Because George, as someone Dream got to know, is someone who hardly lets people in, and when he does he lets them in completely. The first time George had sent him a picture of a random cat he saw on the streets, Dream had a smile on for days. It was that hard to get George to crack. On the outside, he’s all smiles and flattery. But Dream had learned that the other is not all that. He has limits. He has walls. If Dream broke one of those on accident, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be let in again.

Hell, he should have thought that through. _He should have thought that through._

If he throws this, the possibility of ruining their friendship is not impossible. He doesn’t want that to happen. 

“George, I’m sorry if that was out of line. I should have—” he starts, shame seeping in his body, but George cuts him off before it had the chance to swallow him whole.

“ _Shut up.”_ The man says in a huff. Dream shuts up.

George groans from the other line. “ _No, you dumbass. I meant, shut up and ask me again.”_

“How does that mean the same thing?” Dream feels his heart pounding, shoulders tense because he isn’t entirely sure where this conversation is headed.

George sighs from the other line. “ _Just do it, Dream.”_

Dream feels his voice die in his throat, unsure what to say or do next. He really doesn’t want to repeat what he said. 

“ _Dream.”_ George says again. There’s a tiny shake of pleading on his voice, and Dream grasps it like a dehydrated man would to water. Was George affected as well? Because if he is...

So, with everything out the window, he says once again, “I asked if a kiss would make it better.” The words wilt at the end, but George for sure has heard it twice now. 

Dream’s heart is hammering loudly against his ears. It hits him all of a sudden how badly he wants this to work out. It hits him how because of his carelessness, there is a possibility that it won’t. Maybe this is where he loses this. He closes his eyes, waiting for the line of apology of no-return. Of disgust, maybe. Of disappointment, probably. 

“ _Maybe it will. Take me out on a date first.”_

Dream’s eyes snap open.

_What?_

The air he did not know he was holding releases itself from his lungs. His eyes, wide, stares at the phone on the counter with burning intensity; he wonders if he’s dreaming.

“ _Dream?”_ The static muffles George’s voice, but the nervous confusion got through. George is nervous... because of Dream?

That’s not—

“This... was not what I was expecting.” Dream laughs nervously.

“ _Huh? What were you expecting?”_ George’s voice is laced with confusion.

“I thought you were going to tell me off! Bad joke, you know, all that.” The tension gets out of him in a shaky laugh. 

“ _Ah, was that just a joke, then?”_ George sounds disappointed.

“No! I mean, if you want! Or if you don’t want! I mean— Oh, _shit_ — I—” Dream stutters unsure of what to feel now that everything has taken a turn he was not expecting at all. He places both his hands in his face and presses firmly, willing himself to calm down. 

Okay. _Wait._

Does this mean George wants to go on a date with him? Wants to kiss him???

 _Oh my god._

Dream thinks he’s having an internal breakdown. 

George’s laugh pierces through Dream’s thoughts. In his state, he picks up the phone hurriedly, turns off the loud speaker mode, and pulls the phone to his ears, clinging to the laugh that grounds him. 

“ _Funny how you are a renowned public speaker but you seem tongue tied right now.”_

And because the only thing Dream is capable of doing perfectly in front of George is fucking up, he says in the most deadpan tone, “That’s not the only thing I’m good at with my tongue.”

His eyes widen. He screams a panicked “Oh my god.” at the same time George screams “ _Dream!”._

Dream sinks to the ground. _Holy shit,_ his mind goes into overdrive, _I have got to shut the fuck up why the fuck am I like this why does he affect me like this all my years worth of academic degree and this is where I am fuck a mess of words and no class._

“ _Take me out on a date first! Bloody hell.”_ George sounds appalled. 

“...This is real, isn’t it? I can take you out on a date?” Dream asks dumbly as he stands up from the floor. He needs to calm the hell down. Like, really. He doesn’t need panic or disbelief to ruin his chances. This is really happening. 

George laughs. “You can if you stop the dirty talking.”

Dream goes for a smile, more to calm himself than for show. “That wasn’t dirty talking, George. If it was, then you’d be first to know.” The usual confidence in his voice is coming back.

George huffs from the other line.

“ _Dream, you say these words that are so hot sometimes I wonder if you do it on purpose or if it comes naturally to you.”_ George says. “ _I don’t know which is more irritating, to be honest.”_

“You think I’m hot?” His free hand grips the counter. The clock ticks, not waiting for a reply.

George scoffs. “ _That’s what you got from that? I called you irritating.”_

Dream bites back another smile. “Eh,” he shrugs, “that can change as soon as I take you out.” 

“Yeah?” George mocks. “ _Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?_ ”

“Maybe.” Dream says, confident. He follows, “After finals?”

“ _Eager, aren’t you?”_ George utters with a teasing laugh that eases Dream immediately.

“I owe you a kiss, after all.” He says back.

George’s laugh sings in his ears again. With a voice so sweet he says, “ _Oh, Professor, I don’t kiss on the first date.”_

Dream feels himself float from his body, reeling from the sudden push. _Dizzying mix of push and pulls,_ he recalls. The perfect summation of George Notfound. 

Dream chuckles. “Ah, that’s fine, _Professor._ I can take you on a hundred different dates until you ask for a kiss yourself.” 

He smirks at the sudden hitch of George’s breath. “ _Would you really?”_

“Would I really what?” Dream urges, the phone as close to his ear as it’s probably going to get.

“ _Would you really have that much patience to take me on a hundred dates even without a kiss?”_ George asks, voice hopeful.

Dream laughs.

“No. I’m not that patient.” Dream confesses. He smiles, and says with the most utmost sincerity he can convey in his voice, “What I _would_ do is kiss you in every single one.”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream— you— 😳


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george and dream go on a date, well... kinda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAA MF  
> here's the date, everyone! <3 i wanted to share this with you guys as soon as possible so here here even tho its only been a few days since the last update :]
> 
> on a side note, my second semester is abt to start so updates wouldnt be as often :{ (i will try to update once a week tho :> but if i failed, just know that it was my advanced calculus class that dragged me to the pits of hell hah )
> 
> ps. i think i forget to say this every time, but now that i rmmbr, i wanna remind u guys that none of my fics are proofread or beta'd so if u find any mistakes, please let me know so i can fix them :">
> 
> hope you like this chapter! enjoy :>

So The Date was happening. To say Dream is nervous would be the understatement of the century. 

Dream has not gone out with somebody since when? 

Almost a year ago, he recalls, but that was only because Sapnap had convinced him to go or else he said he would call Dream in the middle of the night while he's doing whatever he does at night and make Dream be scarred for life. 

Nope. He’s heard enough when they were roommates during their undergrad years.

But seriously, how long has it been since he was interested in dating? 

Maybe before starting graduate school? Not that he doesn’t have time— he can manage time pretty well when he uses his ability— but he just has no interest in people. Noone appeals to him now. 

His dates and past relationships had a fair share of intellectual people, of nice and funny people, of pretty and handsome ones, but they’re never one in the same person.

It’s either they are really smart but are assholes, or they’re really nice and funny but don't take anything seriously, or they’re good looking but nothing more than their physical appearance. 

Dream has never met someone who has all that fit into one and makes it work. 

Well, not until George.

George, is first and foremost, really attractive. He has this handsomeness that is bordering on the line of crossing to the “pretty” category. Sometimes, when Dream sees him on campus and sees that they are about to cross paths, Dream would avoid running into him just so he can look at him longer. His eyes will follow George as he walks down the corridors of the buildings they both have classes on, the way he walks firm and intimidating, as opposed to his face when he gives a kind smile towards everyone who greets him.

Or sometimes, when Dream just finishes his earliest morning class and he can see George just arriving at campus, his face fresher than the morning dew, the sunlight filtering through trees and giving George a warm glow. Really, he can wax poetics about George in his head so much that it can explain why he had been a few minutes late in his classes for the past semester.

George, besides being good-looking, besides being an absolutely nice and dorky and funny guy, is really really smart. Dream calls him an idiot all the time, but really, it couldn’t be more the opposite. Dream had seen him teach once, and it had been an experience. Besides being the book kind of smart, he’s also the witty type of smart. George may have painted Dream to be the genius one, but really, George is just humble. He’s heard from Karl that George has also published a novel about sociology and Dream had bought it and read it only to be left in utter awe because the way George perceives the world in a new light is something that Dream finds absolutely amazing. But Dream would never have known by the way that the other was so humble. More than that, the wit and intellect that oozes out every time they speak gets to Dream in the form of well thought out jokes and killer punch lines that leave Dream gasping for air from laughter.

So yes. To say that Dream is more than whipped. To say that Dream is more than beyond head over heels for the man… He can’t really disagree.

The date is happening and Dream is nervous. Sure, they’ve eaten lunch before, had coffee before, all those random  _ hangouts _ that they do. 

But those are under the guise of friendly meet ups and casual company. This time is going to be different because for the first time, they are acknowledging that it is really a date and they will dress to impress and all and George would be so perfect that Dream thinks he’s going to puke. 

Those thoughts and feelings accompany him to the day of the date, when he’s by the institute’s entrance gate, his clothes in place, his hair in place, but his heart and mind all over the place. He’s nervous. He woke up today and it was fine. He goes through the four of his remaining classes (those of irregular students) and by four in the afternoon, he’s on his table at the faculty room done for the day. He had taken his mind off of the date so well that when George texted him to meet him by the gates around 5, he literally felt his heart drop.

It’s quarter to 5 now, and George would be arriving pretty soon. For the past hour, Dream has been motivating himself that he can do this. Because he can! Of course, he can. 

_ He. can. do. this. _

“Dream!” someone calls and Dream turns, and there George was, walking towards Dream like some sort of fever Dream.

_ He can’t do this _ .

They actually haven’t seen each other the whole day, both busy finishing everything up for the semester, so when Dream rakes his eyes all over George, it's a whole new experience.

George is wearing a thin, tan turtleneck, with a knitted, dark blue, oversized vest layered on top of it, his slacks accentuating the slimness of his legs. He looks wonderful. His hair unstyled, but a wonderful mess falling against his forehead. His glasses stay perched on the bridge of his nose, the sleepy sun reflecting off of it and giving his brown eyes a golden glow. Dream doesn’t know what it is with George and sunsets and sunrise and sun rays and sunlight, but all of the above gives the other man somewhat of an aura that Dream can’t seem to touch. He looks like divinity and Dream is a mortal who isn’t worthy. 

His nervousness returns ten-fold.

“Hi.” George greets the panicking man by the gates, and he smiles, beckoning the sun closer, and Dream sucks in a breath. 

“Hello.” Dream says, breathless. 

George giggles, and confidently gives Dream a head-to-toe, a small smile growing at the corner of his lips. Dream stands there, awed. 

“I like what I see.” George says, and  _ fuck. He really can’t do this. George is too much.  _

_ ‘I like what I see’ ???  _ Without a prompt? a prior question if he does? Dream isn’t okay.

“Dream?” George does  _ the  _ head tilt.  _ Fuck. _

“You look beautiful.” Dream sputters. His eyes widened. He did not mean to say that out loud.  _ He did not mean to say that out loud.  _

George’s laughter echoes through the street, and Dream wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

“I know.” George then says, and god, does Dream want to cry right now.

_ George is so motherfucking attractive, it should be illegal.  _

His confidence, the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he gets to Dream—

A warm palm slides against his wrist. Dream whips his eyes down from George’s eyes to his hands. George’s small hand is slipping into his, his fingers filling in the empty crevices of Dream’s. George then intertwines their fingers, squeezes it once, and swings it around lightly between them. Dream’s heart is beating loudly against his chest. He looks up. George is giving him a soft smile. 

“Shall we go?” the sociology professor then asks. Dream nods, words not found, and wills to calm himself down. As they both go towards MIT’s parking lot and George goes off on a tangent about his classes that day, Dream gives himself a minute to breathe in and out. He’s going to use his ability. He can’t go on like this. Otherwise, he’ll ruin his only chance. He can’t afford that. He likes George so much it hurts. He’s not even denying his feelings because he knows what he feels is true.

He badly wants this to work out. 

So, with a quick glance at George, he closes his eyes for a second and breathes in. 

He thinks about how they’ll go to the restaurant George recommended they go to, probably wait in line for a while, and then when they get in, they’ll order food and they’ll talk. George would probably be funny and Dream would most likely fall in love with him. No big deal. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. 

He breathes out. Opens his eyes. 

Instead of at the parking lot, he’s now at a table in a small corner of the restaurant. There are empty dishes in front of him, but smeared with steak sauce and leftover carrots, a half empty drink beside it. The food from across his plate is gone, too. George is nowhere in sight but there is the familiar messenger bag on the seat in front of Dream. Dream looks through the establishment’s window to see that the night has already settled. 

Throwing a quick glance at his wrist watch, he sees that it reads 9:46 pm.

Dream breathes a smile of relief. The whole date has gone by. He smiles. It probably went well.

The restaurant is bustling with a joyous atmosphere, despite not being full since it's probably past its prime time. Dream takes in the design of the building he had apparently spent the last few hours on, but he is really seeing it for the first time today. The corner that they are in is away from the main crowd of people, but it isn’t far away enough that it seems like they’re the only ones there. The drop lights give the restaurant a warm ambience, the black and brown motif apparent across the room, with stairs and chairs of chic black steel and mahogany furniture being the recurring theme of the place. The hours went by in a blink. Literally.

Dream sighs for the nth time. A few minutes pass and George appears from the direction of the bathroom, a soft smile in his face and Dream is thankful he has his ability because if it wasn’t for that, he would’ve ran away in the middle of it because he can’t handle George smiling at him like that multiple times. 

“Sorry, the line was a bit long. Shall we go?” George says once he reaches their table. It feels weird to hear George ask that question again, when he had heard it a minute ago but the truth was, in real time, it had been a few hours already.

Dream nods in reply, but as he stands up and passes George his bag, he looks back to their table where the finished plates of food are to be left alone. 

“Did you settle the bill, George?” Dream asks, mortified, because he wasn’t really aware of what happened the past few hours so he isn’t sure who did it. But it would be embarrassing if George paid for their food when it was Dream who asked him out. 

George rolls his eyes at that, slotting his hand on Dream’s elbow as they walk towards the door of the restaurant. 

“Don’t act as if you didn’t pay the bill when I wasn’t looking earlier, Dream.”

“Oh. Did I?” Dream asks genuinely, uncertain if he really did. George probably thinks he’s teasing him so the other professor just laughs. God, Dream wishes he really did pay for it because it would be a mess if he didn’t and a staff from the restaurant chases them out. 

They’re inside Dream’s car now and no staff comes so he probably did. He breathed a sigh of relief and then asked George to type in his address. He drives George home.

When Dream pulls over so that his car parks just outside of George’s apartment complex, the other man turns to him at the same time that the engine comes to a lull.

The street is dark, except for the light emanating from the lobby of the building’s interior and the post lamp that stood close to where the car is parked at. There’s a soft glow bathing them with the evening skies, and George is looking at him with a warm tone in his eyes. The smile he gives Dream probably mirrors the one Dream wears on his lips right now. 

“Dream, I really had fun tonight.” 

Dream bites his lower lip to prevent himself from grinning ear to ear. 

“I did too, George.”

They stare at each other with fond grins plastered on their faces for a while until George speaks up.

“You know, Dream, I’m not really one for breaking my own rules.” 

Dream tilts his head in confusion. “What?” he asks.

But then, his confusion is forgotten because George undoes his seatbelt, leans over the console, one hand over it and the other takes hold of Dream’s shoulder, gripping it lightly and pulling Dream towards him.

_ Oh. _

It doesn’t take a second more before George’s plush lips are on his, his face the closest it has ever been, and Dream closes his eyes, taking everything in.

For a few seconds, it’s just a pair of lips on top of each other, basking in the softness and the sensation, not until Dream decides to be brave and opens his mouth. His warm breath meets George’s own, and George opens his mouth to accept what Dream is giving him without abandon. Dream licks into the elder’s lower lip, and without any further convincing, George welcomes him in as their tongues clash together in perfect harmony. Dream licks into the sweetness of George’s mouth and elicits a beautiful sound coming from the smaller of the pair. 

George’s sighs turn closer and closer into whimpers as Dream kisses him deeper and fuller, their tongues pushing and pulling at the state of dominance. Their mouths fit perfectly against each other like they have been doing these for their past lifetimes and beyond.

Dream feels drunk, but he doesn’t let the fuzziness stop him from encircling an arm around George, pulling the boy closer by the waist, the elder almost entirely on top of him. His other hand combs through George’s soft locks, gently pushing it away from their faces as he deepens the kiss even more. 

The elder bites Dream’s lower lip which earns a hard groan from Dream, his hands gripping George’s small waist tighter. The professor seems to like that because he tips even more to Dream, his arms now around Dream’s neck tightening, getting more eager and letting Dream know just how addicting George can be. 

But as George leans closer and Dream leans further to accommodate him better, Dream places the hand previously carding through George’s hair on top of the steering wheel for support. He accidentally pushes the honk.

That startles them apart, the loud sound echoing in the dead of the night. The sound cleared and no one outside their own little bubble was too bothered. The only sound inside the car was the sound of their breathing, both facing forward and unable to look each other in the eye.

Dream chances a look at George and at that exact moment, George also throws him a glance. When their eyes met, they instantaneously burst into fits of laughter.

“Oh my god—” 

“What was that—”

They say at the same time. That kicks off another laughing fit. 

Dream’s wheeze and George’s loud cackle bounce off around the entirety of their small space, filling the whole car with unadulterated joy and embarrassment dancing into one. 

After a few minutes of laughter, Dream settles down, and finally, he allows himself to look at the wonderful person in front of him.

George’s hair is a mess now, from Dream’s fingers running through it, and somewhere between everything, the knitted vest he wore looks askew, leaning towards one shoulder. He’s still laughing, unashamed like the way Dream likes it (because George never covers his mouth when he laughs, and seeing him do it unabashed makes Dream’s heart flutter more than it should), with both hands holding his stomach. He looks breathtaking.

The lamp outside illuminates his features as a soft blush dances on the apple of his cheeks. His lips red and swollen from the kiss. His eyes holding a thousand different lights as they lock with Dream’s.

He looks ethereal.

And he’s here in front of Dream.

George’s laughter liquifies into a warm smile. There’s a shine in his eyes as he says, “You’re really something, Dream.”

Dream grins at him teasingly. Tilts his head and asks, “Thought you don’t kiss on the first date?”

George scrunches his nose at that and gives Dream a once over. Dream feels hot.

“Well, you’re not exactly easy to resist, Professor Wastaken.” George raises a challenging eyebrow at Dream and because Dream can’t resist (and just because he can), he’s the one who leans over this time, snaking a warm hand around George’s nape and kisses him again. 

He feels George huff but the man returns it nonetheless. The kiss doesn’t last as long as the first one though because they’re both smiling into it now.

Dream separates his lips from George’s but he doesn’t go back in his seat. He stays close, their faces inches apart, and runs his eyes all over George’s face. With a hand on his nape, he looks at his sore and reddened lips, at his cute button nose, at his adorable apple cheeks, at his expressive eyes that seem to hold the entire universe behind his glasses. George looks more beautiful even closer.

He must have said it out loud because the blush on George’s face deepens. He pushes Dream’s face away.

“Ugh, I’m too old for this stupid high school crush. Get your face away from me.” the other man says, adjusting his clothes into place. Dream grins at that.

“Aww,  _ Gogy _ . Are you having high school level feelings for me?” He presses.

George just glares at him and pushes the car door open. Dream stops him with a hand on his wrist. George turns back to look at him. 

Dream pulls the hand towards him slowly, raises it in level with his head, and softly places a kiss on the inner side of the man’s wrist while his eyes remain on George’s. 

He says in a voice equally as soft, with emotions bleeding out vulnerably in his tone, “I have high school feelings for you too,” but then he corrects himself, “—or no, maybe even college level feelings.  _ Graduate school level of feelings. _ ” he settles.

George, with eyes blown and the red on his cheeks at their highest peak, twists his hand so that it goes free from Dream’s grasp. It’s tiny entirety holds Dream by the jaw, and as Dream leans into it, so does George with his face so close to Dream’s. His warm breath hits Dream’s lips when he speaks, “Just say you like me and go.”

His eyes hold a mischievous glint. But he looks so giddy, so Dream complies.

“I like you, George.” Dream sighs in a whisper.

George grins at that, tilts his head and with a hand cradling Dream’s face, he kisses the corner of Dream’s lips, smiles at him before getting out of the car.

“Drive safe, Dream. Text me when you get home. See you on campus tomorrow!” George doesn’t wait for an answer and closes the car door. 

Dream remains frozen inside, a startled laugh tumbling out of him.

Did George really just—

He grins in disbelief and hurries to undo his seatbelt. He opens his side of the door, steps out half his body and shouts to George who is right by the entrance of his apartment building:

“Say it back!”

He beams when George turns back, shocked. He gives a look at the security guard who stands by the entrance, who is now looking at Dream in suspicion; he doesn’t make a move yet.

So Dream pushes, “Saaay! iit! baaack!”

Dream knows he can get arrested for being so loud but George is barely ten meters away and he doubts he can disturb anyone since this complex includes high apartment buildings. 

But still, there’s something about acting all silly like a child that makes Dream feel giddy. Or maybe, that’s just the ghost of George’s lips on his that’s making his mind go haywire. Before Dream screams again for the third time and the guard looking more and more on the verge of calling the police, George storms right in front of Dream, an embarrassed look on his face.

“What are you doing?” He hisses. It’s apparent that he attempts to look mad, an angry glare in his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks remains.

“Say it back, George.” Dream pouts, towering over the elder. George glares at him for a few beats, before the façade falls. He rolls his eyes at Dream once again, a fond smile gracing his lips. 

“An asshole  _ and _ an idiot. Wow, you are proving me wrong each and every day, Dream.”

Dream lets out a frustrated breath. 

“Geooorge.” 

Dream feels embarrassed, as the whining tone leaks out of his voice because  _ he. does. not. whine. _ But it’s George, beautiful, wonderful George, and he is not saying he likes Dream back, but acting like he genuinely does.

George huffs and raises his hands to either side of Dream’s face, pinching his cheeks in the process.

He uses this hold to pull down Dream’s face closer to his eye level, and with his big chocolate eyes staring into Dream, he whispers, “I have graduate school feelings for you too, Dream. Happy?”

He lets go of Dream’s face, turns back hurriedly and power walks towards the apartment building’s entrance, without sparing the guard nor Dream a glance.

Dream meets the eyes of the guard and grins. He goes back inside his car and leaves.

The whole act that George did, holding his face and pinching his cheeks, was so childish and old-fashioned, that it was on his mind the whole ride home. His mind tells him it should be cringy, his mind tells him he shouldn’t find it sweet, but truly he just feels warm all over. His speed was not even near the speed limit but he still blames it for the way his heart is pounding all throughout.

Dream smiles to himself, a hand on the steering wheel, and another on his mouth, trying to chase the warmth of the kiss earlier. 

_ George Notfound, what have you made of me?,  _ Dream thinks and fails for an answer. But it’s fine. Dream knows its name now. He shouldn’t have looked far and just traced the soft edges that had carved itself into the crevices of his chest.  _ Made a home? Carved a name? Who cares if all of it just screams George Notfound? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe :T kudos, especially comments, would always ALWAYS be appreciated <3 i like them more than hits and kudos, so if you like the fic, do consider letting me know what u think :>


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